"I knew it was a lie the moment I heard it, obviously. But it is intriguing, nonetheless..." Dave said, watching Michael walk toward the exit of the salvaging room.
Michael stopped, turned, and exploded.
"STOP ACTING LIKE YOU FUCKING KNOW EVERYTHING!"
Dave jolted—an instinctive twitch of old servos—and emitted a warped, metallic sound.
Michael jumped at it, yelping before he could stop himself.
Dave chuckled. "After all these years, you're still just as much of a pussy as you were back then. You disappoint me, son."
"DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING CALL ME THAT!" Michael shouted, voice cracking with rage. "I KNOW WHO—no... I KNOW WHAT you are, and you are NOT my father!"
"I hate to break it to you," Dave said with a smug tilt of his head, "but I'm just as much your father as he is."
"JUST SHUT THE HELL UP FOR TWO GODDAMN SECONDS!" Michael snapped.
Dave spread his hands, voice dripping with mock innocence. "Now, now—what's with the hostility?"
"What the fuck do you mean 'what's with the hostility'?! You killed my sister, you killed my mother, you killed my friends, and you took my father away from me, you BITCH!"
Dave's laugh echoed off the metal walls. "They were all bound to die at some point. Regardless of my input. I just sped up the process."
"I'm done letting you fuck with me," Michael said, opening the door. He didn't look back. "Burn in hell..."
"Heh. Not even Lucifer himself would be able to keep me down," Dave muttered.
"Overconfident son of a bitch," Michael growled as he slammed the door shut.